


lamplit

by thespiritinthesky



Category: Batman - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-13
Updated: 2017-08-13
Packaged: 2018-12-15 00:29:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11794656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thespiritinthesky/pseuds/thespiritinthesky
Summary: mussed and yellowing from their fight. smudged like an oil painting. bruce only saw art. art that was murmuring filthy things into his ear.





	lamplit

bruce had the joker pressed to the dark, jagged brick of the nearest building he could find. it was slick with rain. the jokers red grimace of a mouth was smeared over his cheeks, and down his chin. his teeth were bloody, eyes wide with the dark blossom of his pupils devouring the green, and a high wail of a laugh was piercing the usual timbre of bustling gotham. bruce could feel each tense muscle shift under his chest as the joker wiggled. felt the stretch of his lungs at every deep inhale. bruce's own tongue tasted coppery from the split in his lip and a nose that would need to be reset again. rage collided with lust.  
he enveloped the joker, now able to count each rib and note the wild patter of the clown princes heartbeat. batman took in the tang of sweat, understanding it was his and the jokers combined. some collected on the back of a transparently white nape, and bruce leaned down to lick a stripe from the knob of his spine to where green hair tickled his nose. the joker was still tittering, but now it sounded oddly panicked, like a trapped animal. bruce nuzzled at the sensitive skin there as a reassurance and the giggling turned to a shaky, but calmer, chuckle. "oh, bats. skipping right to dessert, i see?" the joker said. bruce bit down on lean shoulder and earned a throaty whimper. he soothed the spot with his tongue and then bit again, this time drawing blood, which seemed to paint the whole night in a visceral hue.   
bruce hummed as the joker pressed back into his groin, now with his hands braced against the brick as batman left deep bruises on his hips.  
he spun the clown and suckled on his collarbone. obscene noises were pouring from the joker; a chorus of “yesyesyesyesfuck” penetrated the cold night air. bruce slipped one of his gloves off and forced his fingers between sharp teeth. no need for the neighbors to hear. the joker choked a little, swallowed thickly, and then gnawed at the pad of batman’s index. bruce hissed, but let him have his fun as he did quick work of the clowns trousers. no boxers, which didn't surprise him. he gave a rough twist of his wrist and smirked to himself as the jokers cock twitched in his hand. he keened when bruce took his fingers back and teased at his hole.   
he was laughing again.   
bruce circled the tight ring of muscle. he slipped his inside and immediately crooked up, up, looking for that spot that would cease the damn incessant cackling. the jokers walls were soft and bruce’s breath stuttered as the joker tightened around his knuckle. he was rutting forward, desperate, keening. his fingers dug into batman’s pecs. bruce loved him like this.   
the moon was shining down on them both. on the rare nights that clouds didn't obstruct her glow, gotham seemed almost seductive. the good, the bad. they all basked, and lured the innocent bystander in.  
the joker was blinding on nights like these.  
the clown’s hair curled coquettishly, and pieces stuck to his forehead. his cheeks were tinted the lightest shade of pink. his lips were parted with want. there was a purpling bruise on his jaw. it stood out in dark contrast, and bruce could do nothing but hold the jokers throat so he could kiss him properly.   
“did no ever teach you that its rude to play with your food? not even that pennyworth?” he snickered. his arms came up around bruce’s neck as he fumbled with his pesky suit. the joker pecked the corner of his mouth. bruce picked him up, a man that was 130 wet, and let slippery fingers undo his cowl. long, spindly legs wrapped themselves around his waist. cool night air hit his cheeks, and the cowl hit the ground.   
gotham was rancid on its best day, but all bruce could smell was gunpowder and citrus and something horribly acidic with his face all tucked into the crook of the jokers neck. he softly moaned at the nails scratching into his scalp and yanking as he thrust up, deep and hard, into the joker.   
the clown had always been sensitive. bruce rolled his hips, and pressed his tongue flat to the bruise. the joker was meeting each thrust.   
bruce realized he was babbling nonsense, “ihateyouyouresoprettygodgodgodjustlikethat”, and chewed at the inside of his cheek to stay quiet. he kept moving, adoring the quick, shuddering mess he was making of his nemesis. he snapped up, hard, and cooed at the instant reaction of the joker having his prostate hit. he arched, closing whatever possible distance there was left between the two, and sobbed “bruce” like a prayer.   
bruce was always a benevolent god, so he complied. he slammed into the spot again, again, and shallowly rocked in and out as the joker came with a breathy whine. “good boy, so good for me, gorgeous.” bruce was whispering. to some, the joker was anything but. mussed and yellowing from their fight. smudged like an oil painting. bruce only saw art. art that was murmuring filthy things into his ear, licking the shell of it, nuzzling into bruce’s temple as he came with a mewl.   
“you’re a menace.” bruce murmured. there was a smile in his voice. he didn't dare move. the joker didn’t let go. “at least i’m not a martyr.” he replied, albeit softly.   
when they did move, it was only when they absolutely had to.


End file.
